The Missing Scene V - On the Hovercraft
by NephilimEQ
Summary: Another moment that wasn't caught by either the author or the director...but it exists. Please enjoy!


**The Missing Scene, On the Hovercraft**

"She's gonna lose it when she finds out about the boy," I hear someone say through the door. The voice sounds familiar, but I can't quite place it. I tighten my grip around the syringe and make my way to the door, determined to find out who is on the other side.

"She'll still cooperate, though," says someone else. This voice is less familiar, but it still rings a bell.

"Without Peeta, there's no guarantee," says the first voice and then the door opens just as a new voice says, "Just tell her when…"

My eyes first go to Plutarch, on my right. The second voice.

To the middle.

Finnick.

And then…

"Mornin', sweetheart."

My grip around the needle suddenly becomes so hard it hurts my hand, and I lunge at him, not thinking about what I am doing, only knowing that I am here and Peeta is not, which means that Haymitch has broken his promise to me, the one that he swore to keep.

But before I can even come close, his hands are on my wrists and he is pushing me back.

I would think that a drunk like him wouldn't have much strength, but I am wrong. Even with all of my strength and toned muscles straining against him, he moves me to exactly where he wants me with barely any real effort on his part.

As soon as he pins me to the wall, I say, "What are you doing with them?!"

He ignores my question and, as he manages to extract the needle from my hand without ever breaking his grip, he says, "You know, you and a syringe against the Capitol…see, _this_ is why no one lets you make the plans."

I continue to press against him, using all of my depleted energy, and look at Finnick.

"What the hell are you doing in here?"

"Stop, stop," he says protesting against my actions. "Just…listen…"

Haymitch is then talking to me, his voice right in my ear, saying, "We couldn't tell you. With Snow watching it was too risky." He looks up at my hands and his, where he is now holding the syringe, and then adds, "Better for you to know nothing."

I bring my hands down forcefully and he lets me shove him back.

"Where's Peeta?"

Plutarch says my name.

"Katniss…you have been our mission from the beginning. The plan was always to get you out."

Now I am angry. I glare at my mentor…correction; _ex-_mentor, but then Plutarch catches my attention as he speaks up again, saying, "Half the tributes were in on it. This is the revolution. And you are the Mockingjay." He steps towards me. "And we are on our way to District 13 right now."

I am confused.

"Thirteen?"

"Thirteen," he repeats. "Yes."

I can wait no longer. I deserve a straight answer.

"Where's Peeta?"

Haymitch turns around from where he was facing the table; the other two turn away, neither of them meeting my eyes.

"He still has a tracker in his arm; Johanna cut yours out."

I remember her attacking me. I remember the knife.

I repeat myself once more, holding Haymitch's seam gray eyes with my own.

"Where is he?"

"In the Capitol." I can't breathe. "They got him. And Johanna."

I'm going to kill him. I am going to kill him.

"You son of a bitch!"

And as I yell at him, I see my hand reach out and slap him, almost without any thought on my part, and I continue to curse at him, reminding him about his promise and calling him a liar even as he holds me down, pressing me down to my knees, and then I feel a needle enter my back…and I am gone.

* * *

The first time I wake up, I am still on the hovercraft and Haymitch is sitting near my cot, his head resting against the metal bulkhead.

I look at him, trying to fight off the effects of the drug that has my vision blurring around the edges. I try to lift a hand, but cannot seem to find the energy. I do, however, manage to move a few fingers, and it's enough to catch his attention.

"Hey, you're not supposed to be up, yet," he says, standing and coming over to me, placing a hand over mine.

I want to pull it away from him, but I can't, so I turn my eyes away and manage to whisper, "You lied to me."

I feel his hands tense and I don't have to look at him to know the look that has appeared on his face. I don't have to look at him to know that I have hurt him with my words.

Finally, after a long, deeply uncomfortable silence, he says, "Yeah. I did."

I can't think of anything more to say to him, so I don't say anything, and simply let the silence between us stretch out, the tension becoming so thick it would take more than a knife to cut through it. I _want_ to say something else, anything to cut him down a few more inches, but I can't.

He squeezes my hand tightly, and I know that it's a sign that he's about to say something.

I'm not wrong.

"Sweetheart," he starts, but I cut him off there, wishing I could wrench my hand from his, saying sharply, "Don't…_call_ me that."

It's too familiar. Too intimate.

I can feel his look on me and I know that it's a hurt one, and so he says, "Katniss, then. Don't blame me for wanting to save you." I try to snap at him a second time, but he cuts me off, saying, "No, I don't want to hear that crap about the promise I made you. I also made a promise to Peeta, _too_, you know, or do you not remember?"

At this, I finally turn my eyes back to him.

He gives me a look, his Seam gray eyes leveling with mine.

"He came to me _first_, you know, and when you came to me and asked me to save him, I told you what you wanted to hear, but in the end, I would rather have _you_ alive and mad at me, then have Peeta alive and mad at me for not keeping _his_ promise…"

Finally I say, "Why me?"

He lets out a long sigh and drops his eyes to where he is still holding my hand in both of his, and I wait for his answer.

"The first time I met the two of you, Peeta reminded me of every other Tribute that I'd ever trained, albeit a bit more _eager_ than most, but you…you just looked at me with those eyes of yours and I saw something. And then the next morning you tried to take my hand off, and that was when I knew."

"Knew what?"

"That you were just like me."

I don't know what to say to that, so I simply turn my head away.

The silence only lasts for a short while before he says, "Katniss…you wanted me to get Peeta out, and I didn't, so, of course you're mad at me. But I know that even if I had saved Peeta, if I hadn't gotten _you_ out alive, Peeta wouldn't even want to live…"

At this, my eyes snap back to his and I stare at him in shock, not quite believing what I'm hearing Haymitch say. Peeta would _never_ be suicidal; he's the eternal optimist. Always has been, always will be. The baker's boy, the one that everyone loves and adores, the one that everyone _wants_ to save…and yet, Haymitch chose _me_. I want to hate Haymitch for it, and the first instant that I saw him and understood what had happened, I felt nothing but disgust, anger, and loathing towards him for not saving Peeta.

But now, I can't.

Even as I turn my eyes away, yet again, I know that I can't because, for the first time in my life, someone cares enough about me to ignore anything that I may tell them…and I can't be angry at him.

He did it because…well, because he cares about me.

I look back at him, unsure if it's a wise choice, and I see a look on his face that I don't quite understand…and then I recognize it. The training room, the balcony, the train; the night when he took care of me. All those moments share this one look, and I still don't know what to make of it.

He seems to see straight through me and instead of feeling violated or ashamed, I feel…free. Liberated. And it absolutely terrifies me. I can't feel this way. I can't feel this way when my world is falling around me, when I know that I am going to be expected to lead a revolution that will change our way of life forever. I am not blind to what is happening, I just simply wish that I could move on in peace with my life, and, somehow, Haymitch seems to see this.

He knows the pain and the burden of being a true Victor, something that Peeta has never been or ever will be, and because of that I can now see why he looks at me like this. We share a common pain, and sometimes pain bonds people together stronger than happiness ever can.

He still holds my hand, and is now running his thumb over my fingers.

Our eyes drop at the same time and I inwardly let out a sigh of relief.

I don't know what to say to him and that makes me uncomfortable. Usually words aren't needed between the two of us. I think back to the night that he comforted me on the train. It was one of those rare times when, for a few precious moments, he was as vulnerable as I was, and we hadn't needed any words.

In truth, I think we would be fine if we never had to speak again. I can read his expressions as easily as he can read mine…and that's when I realize that he's right about one thing, at least. I am just like him. We are like each other. He's had more years to become bitter and entrenched in his guilt and anger from the Games, but because of him I know that I will never turn out that way. And, because of me, he can do what he's doing right now: hold my hand and tell me that he chooses me over Peeta.

I look back up at him and I am relieved to see that his eyes are still trained on our hands.

He looks…broken. But at the same time, as though he's finally starting to heal. I feel his thumb brush over my hand one last time, and then he pulls back.

"You should get some rest," he mutters, pulling out a syringe and gently pressing it into my arm. "We've still got a ways to go."

As he leans back against the bulkhead, sitting down in his previous position, I am not sure what to say. It all feels…not quite real. And I find that I am afraid to go back to sleep; afraid that this moment will vanish. That what has just occurred between us is a memory that will disappear as soon as it's been made, like a dream that fades as soon as you wake up from it; that the instant I fall asleep, I'll forget what has happened.

But, all too soon, I succumb to the drugs and fall asleep.

* * *

The next time I wake up, Gale is at my side, blue eyes staring right at me, and I am dimly aware of the fact that I am no longer on the hovercraft.

"Hey, Katnip," he says, his hand brushing mine. "You're okay. You've just been asleep for a few days."

"Are we home?" I ask, unsure of what the answer is going to be, and I think back to when I saw Haymitch, and I wonder where he is. If he's watching us from another room, or, if after our confrontation on the ship, he's avoiding me.

Gale doesn't answer me. I look at him and I can tell that my simple question has profoundly upset him. I don't know why he's hesitating to answer, so I push my second question at him instead.

"Gale…where's Prim?"

"She's alive."

Alive? That implies that at one point she was in danger. That she was in danger that could have cost her her life. That does not reassure me in the way that he thinks, especially when he says, "So's your mother; I got them out in time."

"Got them out?"

I want an explanation. And I get one.

"After the Games, they sent in hovercrafts…and they started dropping fire bombs."

My heart stops.

Finally, I manage to say, "They're not in Twelve?"

His eyes go dark and he replies, "There is no District 12. It's all gone."

I have no words. I turn my head away, and as the tears start to come, all I can think of is that I wish Haymitch had been the one to tell me instead of Gale. Haymitch could understand more than anyone exactly what I am feeling. There is pain, yes, but there is also a guilty sense of relief.

The hell in which I was raised in is gone. Yes, it was my home. Yes, there were most likely people killed in the fire bombings. But, in the end, maybe it's better for them. Because I know that this means that the Capitol is waging war on us and that no matter where we may go, war will find us. More of us will be killed. Maybe we'll survive, but if we change the world, then what will it become? At least those who have already died and spared the nightmare that is to come. And I know Haymitch probably feels the same.

All of this and more runs through my head, so I don't look back at Gale, certain that he will see it in my gaze.

I don't look back at those blue eyes that seem to have the light in them extinguished. Instead, in my mind, I imagine a pair of Seam gray eyes and a warm set of arms holding me, like the night on the train.

It's all I have…so I'll hold onto it for now.

Because, suddenly, I hate him.

I hate Haymitch for taking to choice away from me. For forcing me to become the Mockingjay; the symbol of hope for all of the Districts.

I hate him, and I hate that I hate him. I don't _want_ to hate him. I know that I will need him in the days ahead, in the war that is going to inevitably ensue, but I don't know how to not feel this way towards him. He tore the decision out of my hands, leaving me with _no choice._

In my heart, I hope that I can forgive him, because I know that I cannot afford to push him away for too long.

If I push him away…he might never take me back.

And I need him to.

And that's the part that bothers me the most; I don't know _why_ I need him to. Gale will be here for me, no matter what, as will my mother and Prim. Heck, even Finnick will be by my side throughout the coming days, of that I'm certain…however, some part of me, a part I don't want to look at too closely or try too hard to understand, not only _wants_ Haymitch in my life, but also _needs_ him in my life.

And it terrifies me.

But also, somehow, it allows me to hope.

I tightly close my eyes, feeling my tears finally dissipate. I make no noise, making Gale believe that I've fallen asleep, and I feel him get up from the cot and I have to withhold a sigh of relief when I know that he's gone.

After a few moments, I breathe the sigh of relief that I've been holding and I think of Haymitch one last time.

I hate him for what he's done to me and how he's trapped me, even though I know he was doing it all to protect me…

…and yet, I'm grateful that he did.

A strange warm feeling settles in my chest, the same feeling that I felt when he and were alone that night I took care of Gale. Right as he'd started to lean in. Now that I think back on it, I know what was going to happen.

And I'm fine with that.

I finally fall back to sleep.

* * *

**THE END**

**A.N. - I want to say a HUGE apology to the person I told that I would have this story up a couple of days ago! So sorry! Life just sort of...came _at_ me, to say the least, and I forgot to put it up. Well, it's up now! Enjoy!**


End file.
